


when the light broke dawn

by asael



Series: lake song [4]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Excessive Amounts of Worldbuilding, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Pining, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:02:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24239242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asael/pseuds/asael
Summary: On his path to recovery in Almyra, Dimitri finally greets his oldest friends again. Their presence brings its own problems, but also a certain amount of clarity. It's time for Dimitri to make some decisions about his future.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Series: lake song [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1659037
Comments: 43
Kudos: 228





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will probably not make sense without the context of the other fics in [this series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1659037), so if you haven't read them yet, try that first! There will be one more installment in this series, though I can't promise when I'll have it finished.
> 
> The second half of _this_ part, though, will be out in a few days! Thank you for reading.

“That’s enough.”

Dimitri could feel his heart beating hard in his chest, feel his breath coming fast. But his arms weren’t shaking, darkness wasn’t creeping into his vision. It felt like a victory - and all the more reason to stop there.

The woman across from him stepped back, lowering her lance. She grinned, a sharp thing, and pushed her hair out of her eyes where her sweat was making it cling to her skin. “Not bad,” she said. “If you keep this up, you might even be able to beat me _without_ your odd Fódlan crest.”

Dimitri allowed a smile to rise to his lips. He bowed to her formally in thanks for the match, though that was generally not a thing done for simple practice matches in Almyra.

He would never be Almyran. He was not entirely sure what he _was_ anymore, but he knew that much.

“You are a skilled warrior,” he said. “Thank you for your time, Firuzeh.”

“Always so polite,” Firuzeh said with a laugh. “No wonder Khalid thinks you’re so charming.”

All of Claude’s personal guard referred to him like that - informally, without his titles, unless they were speaking to someone who they believed needed to be reminded of his importance. It had been a surprise for Dimitri when he realized that, and he still was not certain what he thought of it. When he had been a prince, he had desperately wished for his friends to call him by his name, think of him as an equal - but seeing it actually happen, especially when Claude was not a prince but a king, was an odd thing.

But that was how Claude liked it, and his guard had sworn themselves to him, one and all. Sworn their lives and their futures, until the day of their deaths or until Claude chose to release them from their vows and turn them away from his guard. Dimitri supposed he was allowed to make those rules.

Claude’s Almyran name seemed to sit easily on Firuzeh’s tongue, in any case. She was a tall woman, wiry and muscled from years of riding wyverns, and she had a casual air about her most of the time. She wasn’t like Nasrin, who seemed stern until she smiled, or Vinay, who spoke rarely. She smiled and laughed as easily as Claude did, and treated everyone like a potential friend or sparring partner.

She was very like her father in that way, Dimitri thought, though he had met Nader rarely. Regardless, the man made quite an impression, and so did his daughter.

He took both of their practice lances to the weapons stand, setting them aside to be cleaned and checked for weaknesses later. He felt weary but satisfied - he would sleep well tonight.

“Same time next week?” Firuzeh said, rolling her shoulders to work some of the ache out of them.

“If you are free,” Dimitri said, and she grinned.

“I can always make time for a good fight.”

By the time he’d finished cleaning up after them, Firuzeh had disappeared to attend to her duties and Dimitri had decided a soak in the baths would be exactly what he needed. He had a small bath in his own room, but the larger baths attached to the palace had rooms upon rooms, with different temperatures and a variety of interesting-smelling soaps and even some pools built with therapeutic minerals in the stone. 

He had become well-acquainted with those particular baths since he’d begun training again. His crest gave him strength no matter the state of his body, but without it he’d been as weak as a boy just beginning his training. His warrior’s physique had faded thanks to years of poor nutrition. Years of madness.

Dimitri paused for a moment, took a deep breath, centered himself. He did not want his thoughts to drift to those years. He remembered little of them, and what he did remember he could not be certain was real, but he could easily get caught in their grip regardless.

He could explore them to some extent when he was alone and in the correct frame of mind, and more often with Thaddea, a skilled healer from Dadga, by his side. But alone and weary, like this, he was more likely to lose himself to them.

So he did as she had taught him. He centered himself in the world, took a moment to remind himself of what was real. The ache in his muscles. The bright colors of the tapestries on the wall. The distant sound of conversation, somewhere down the hall or in a nearby room. He pressed his fingertips to the marble of the wall, felt its solid chill. This was where he was. Almyra, in the palace of its king.

And that brought his thoughts back to Firuzeh’s casual comment. _No wonder Khalid thinks you’re so charming._

He was not certain he wanted to think about that too deeply, either. He wasn’t certain he could handle the way it made hope churn in his gut, bright and painful. Or how foolish he felt, wondering what Claude might have said about him. What Claude might think about him.

In the baths, he relaxed into the hot water and let it soothe his tired body. He wasn’t alone there, but due to the time of day the baths weren’t crowded - and of course, ettiquette meant that he would not be disturbed in any case. He felt the warmth leech his aches away, calm his body and mind, and he let himself think about Claude.

_Do you think your feelings for him are a hindrance?_ Thaddea had asked when Dimitri had last spoken of Claude. He had not been entirely certain whether she meant that his feelings might be a hindrance to his own recovery, or whether they might be a hindrance to Claude himself. He knew by now there was no point in asking, though. She was a master of asking questions and allowing him to interpret them as he wished.

He had not had difficulty answering, though. _No._

If anything, his feelings for Claude had assisted with his recovery. Even when he’d barely been himself, he had known that he did not want to hurt Claude. Claude had been a light in the darkness for him, had given him time and space to find his way back to himself. If he had not loved Claude, he did not think he would have tried as hard as he did. If it had been a stranger who asked him to claw his way out of the darkness, he might not have tried at all.

And he would not allow his feelings to ever be a hindrance to Claude. It would be impossible for Dimitri to repay all that Claude had done for him - he could work his entire life and not do so. But Dimitri wanted, somehow, to help him. To give back even a tiny bit of what Claude had given him. Not because he owed Claude, but because he loved him.

But he did not know what Claude felt for him.

He knew that Claude cared for him. He knew that Claude valued his friendship, that he considered Dimitri important enough to make time for him. Though he had tentatively begun to get to know people besides Claude, Claude would always be his dearest friend here. Perhaps now his dearest friend anywhere, save only Dedue.

But if it went further than that, Dimitri did not know. Once upon a time, before his years of madness, before the war, when they were young and innocent, they had been lovers. He remembered those days more clearly than nearly any others. Those sweet days at Garreg Mach with his friends, his classmates, and Claude. There had been darkness within him even then, but he had not known how much farther he had to fall, and now Dimitri viewed those days as some of the brightest in the twisted rope of his life.

Claude had been his then. It had begun with exchanged glances in the dining hall, chance meetings in the library at night. He’d helped Claude find a book. Claude had brought him tea the next night in return, and they’d talked. From there it seemed almost inevitable that they would come together - at least, looking back on it now. Dimitri remembered being nervous, awkward, uncertain. Not knowing if Claude truly welcomed his interest, not knowing how serious Claude’s teasing words were.

But they’d traded kisses, tucked away behind the stables. They’d taken tea together (as friends, or so their classmates believed) and he’d gazed at Claude over the table, beautiful in the sunlight. The night of the ball, he’d slipped out and caught Claude for one daring stolen dance outside under the stars, discovering he was just as beautiful in the moonlight. And he’d crept his way into Claude’s arms, into Claude’s bed.

Despite all the things he’d forgotten, he still remembered _that_ very clearly. He remembered the taste of Claude’s lips, the way he’d relax beneath Dimitri’s touch. He remembered the way Claude had acted so bold, coaxing Dimitri into bed, even though Dimitri had known even then that Claude was no more experienced than him. But they’d learned together, he’d learned what Claude liked and Claude had so carefully studied his desires in return.

He remembered Claude arching up against him, sighing out his name. He remembered the weight of Claude in his hand and the sounds he’d make when Dimitri took him. He remembered laying in Claude’s bed after, Claude brushing his hair out of his face and kissing him.

He shifted in the bath, suddenly embarrassingly hard. He had not forgotten those things, but that didn’t mean he needed to think about them in a place like this - in truth, his thoughts should not be drifting that way at all. Claude wasn’t his now, and Dimitri did not know if he could be again.

It was particularly awkward because he was meant to be having dinner with Claude in a couple of hours. Now he’d have to take care not to be distracted. Claude was different now, older, a few strands of gray in his hair and the faintest of wrinkles forming on his face. He still smiled more often than not, but after years of war and even more years on the Almyran throne, seriousness crept in more often.

But for all that, _because_ of all that, he was beautiful.

Dimitri sighed and tried to clear his mind of all thoughts - his past, Claude, his slowly-forming plans for the near future. Everything. He focused on the heat easing his aches, the quiet sounds of the baths.

Eventually, it worked.

***

In the months - nearly a year - since Dedue’s visit, accompanied by Ashe, Dimitri had changed certain aspects of his life. Seeing Dedue, feeling his solidity, the life within him - it had healed something inside him. He’d been left contemplating his future, his choices. He did not want to return to Faerghus, so what did he want?

He’d carefully begun to train again. Alone at first, until Firuzeh came upon him at the training grounds - supposedly by chance, but with both Claude and Thaddea carefully observing his recovery, Dimitri doubted that. She was the only one of Claude’s royal guards who regularly used a lance, and she’d begun to train with him. Carefully at first, as if he were a child, and it had frustrated him - but he knew it was necessary. He was as weak as a child, his warrior’s reflexes still there without the muscle to back them up.

He was getting there, after long months of practice. He was strong enough now to sometimes spar with Vinay, Claude’s guard from some eastern country Fódlan had never heard the name of, who was an excellent swordsman. Nasrin had even once fought him, her swiftly-striking daggers nothing he’d been truly ready to defend against.

He was getting stronger, he could feel it in his muscles. He got tired less often, had restored some of his previous strength and stamina. He was not sure he would ever get it all back, but even so, simply being able to mark his progress was usually encouraging.

He was recovering in more areas than that. A couple of months before, Dimitri had taken dinner with Claude’s court for the first time. He had been introduced as nothing more than ‘a friend from Fódlan’, and that had seemed to be enough - Claude often had visitors from the former Alliance territories, nobles and wealthy merchants, and sometimes even knights from Faerghus or researchers from Adrestia. 

One of his personal guard was even from Fódlan, as Dimitri had discovered not long after his recovery began. Eloise was a young woman, barely out of her teens, who hailed from House Goneril. As a third daughter of a branch family, with no crest, she’d had few prospects in Fódlan - and so she’d come to Almyra. Ostensibly this was to foster goodwill and perhaps find a match among the Almyran nobles, but she was as certain of herself as he remembered Hilda being. She’d sworn herself to Claude’s service, renounced her home and Fódlan ties, and carved a place for herself in Almyra.

She knew who Dimitri was. She didn’t care, and when he’d gotten the courage to ask about it, she’d only scoffed and said that as she was no longer from Fódlan, she did not care who he might have been, once upon a time.

She’d also been too young to fight in the war, which was a comfort.

All of which was to say that Claude’s court, and his courtiers, did not think the appearance of a man from Fódlan at their dinner table was terribly strange. Thanks to Claude, his Almyran was passable, if not yet good. He’d avoided difficult questions and answered those that he could with the story they’d prepared: he had been a soldier in Claude’s army during the war, and had come to Almyra to rejoin his former lord.

When they’d decided on the ruse, Claude had been cautious about it. He had seemed uncertain about whether Dimitri would be comfortable lying - comfortable throwing away his old identity like that.

In fact, it had been easy. It had even felt strangely freeing, abandoning the shackles that came with Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Prince of Faerghus, and becoming simply Nicolai, former Alliance soldier. His past no longer mattered, his many mistakes and regrets no longer dragged him down.

He’d managed well. It was still impossible sometimes, and difficult enough other times that he would leave early, the sounds and smells and people all too much for him. But Dimitri found himself able to take dinner with the court occasionally now, often enough that his presence was no longer remarked upon.

It helped that no one in particular was expected to attend these meals. It wasn’t like the royal dinners Dimitri remembered from his days in Fhirdiad - formal affairs, with a careful heirarchy and set customs. Claude flouted custom easily, he always had, and while there was certainly a subtle jockeying for royal favor and upward mobility within the Almyran court, people went about it entirely differently. If they had a standing invitation, like Dimitri or most of Claude’s court, they could come as they pleased - or not, if they had other arrangements. They could eat, and make connections, and meet new people, or they could choose not to as they wished.

And the king was no different. Sometimes Claude would eat by himself in his chambers, or with a particular visitor or dignitary. Occasionally he ate with Dimitri - and Dimitri had not truly understood what that meant until he began attending the occasional court dinner. To pass up being seen by his court, to pass up those connections and that chance to allow people to whisper in his ear - it was a sacrifice. A sacrifice made to spend time with _him_.

And that was what Claude was doing tonight.

He tried not to read too much into it. He tried not to allow it to bring him hope that he could not afford. But his feelings for Claude were a part of him. It felt as if they were as intrinsic as his bones, his blood, the cracks in his psyche.

Something that would always be there.

Dimitri never left his rooms a mess, but he had also asked that the servants not clean them. He could not be comfortable with the idea of strangers in his private quarters yet, particularly if he did not know exactly when they would be there. And so all cleaning was left to him, though he’d been given leave to place soiled linens and clothing outside his door for the servants to take care of. He cleaned now, knowing that Claude was coming.

Which was rather ridiculous when he thought about it. He knew what Claude’s rooms had looked like back at the Academy. He remembered vividly one free afternoon, Claude crawling atop him, Dimitri allowing himself to be pressed into the sheets until a sharp object poked uncomfortably into his spine. He’d straightened and removed what turned out to be a book, and Claude had brightened.

_Oh, that’s where that was_ , he’d said. He’d plucked it from Dimitri’s hand and gone right back to what they’d been doing before, the book allowed to slip to the floor.

So it was frankly silly to think that Claude would care about the state of his chambers. And yet Dimitri made certain they were clean, were comfortable, were ready to receive visitors.

And when Claude arrived, he graced Dimitri with a bright smile and said, “it’s always so nice in here,” and his efforts felt worthwhile.

They ate together, and though of course Dimitri could not taste the food, Claude had taken to choosing dishes with distinct scents or textures whenever they ate together. It was the sort of thoughtful touch Claude was good at these days, his observant nature and tactical mind coming together with the calm compassion that had grown stronger as he aged. It meant that even if the flavors meant nothing to Dimitri, the act of eating itself did.

Claude would show him how to crack open a certain shellfish, to get at its soft innards. Or he’d bring a sweet that somehow crackled on the tongue, startling and delightful. Or he would coax his cooks into making a dish that smelled just like something they’d eaten in the dining hall together, once upon a time.

He didn’t do it at the court dinners, which were designed to appeal to a broad audience. It was only when they ate together that Claude went to such trouble, and each time Dimitri was amazed anew - not just at the food, but at Claude, who took the time to make such a thing happen when he had so many other things to worry about.

Was it any wonder that Dimitri loved him?

Was it any wonder that Dimitri knew, down to his bones, that he did not deserve Claude’s love in return?

Afterward, they talked. About Dimitri’s training, about his meetings with Thaddea, about a musician Claude had heard recently. And then Claude sipped his water, and looked at Dimitri across the small table, and asked, “Are you ready?”

Dimitri took a breath. He looked down at his empty plate. “I am not sure.”

“He’ll be here in a couple days,” Claude said, a gentle warning. “If you need more time… well, I can delay him, but then he’ll be in a particularly foul mood when he finally arrives.”

And as far as either of them knew, Felix’s normal moods had not improved overmuch. Setting the stage for anger or frustration was not, Dimitri knew, the best way for this meeting to go. 

“I know,” he said. “I’ll be ready. I just - I am not sure what to say.”

Claude made a soft _hmm_ noise. “Do you want me there when you meet him?”

Dimitri considered it. After Ashe’s quiet plea, his request that they tell the others of his survival, Dimitri had known he was right. His former friends, his loved ones - as much as he wanted to cut all ties, to move on from the reckless, dangerous man he had once been, it would have been unfair to forget them. 

He’d started small: a letter to Mercedes, who knew the importance of keeping secrets. She hadn’t visited, but had sent him a heartfelt letter in return, thanking Seiros for his survival. They’d written intermittently ever since, Dimitri finding a certain solace in her wisdom - not so different from Thaddea’s, in its own way.

Then he had given her leave to tell Annette, in one of their semi-regular meetings, sending her a letter to carry along. That prompted a literally tear-stained missive in return, complete with promises to visit as soon as her post at the School of Sorcery allowed, though that time hadn’t come quite yet.

That had all been in the last six months. He’d spaced them out carefully, given himself time to recover, time to process. Time to decide what it meant to him, and when to progress.

But he had always known these last three would be the most difficult.

After some discussion with Claude, he had asked Mercedes to bring letters to Sylvain and Ingrid for him. Delivered by her, they would trust that the letters were real when otherwise they might doubt. 

Felix had been more difficult. As he had been making his way as a wandering mercenary for some years now, he was not easy to track down. It had been Claude who’d found him, ultimately - or rather, one of the many men and women scattered across the world who reported to Claude. And it had been Dedue, with Ashe at his side, who carried him the letter.

Ingrid had cried, Mercedes said. Sylvain had laughed until he broke too, covering his eyes and turning away. 

Felix, Dedue said, had been furious.

It was not surprising. It had been eleven years now since the war, since Dimitri’s supposed death. Dimitri could blame no one for anger, particularly not Felix, for whom it had always bubbled close to the surface. But now all three of them were coming here, all three arriving on Claude’s doorstep to see their once-and-never-again king.

Felix had departed almost immediately after Dedue had delivered Dimitri’s letter. He would arrive well before Sylvain and Ingrid, who were traveling together. And just as Dimitri had told Claude, he wasn’t sure he was ready.

Meeting Dedue and Ashe again had been difficult enough, when Dedue already knew of his condition and Ashe had never been so terribly close to him. Meeting his old friends again, when they had believed him dead for so long… he knew it wasn’t going to be easy. He knew as well that if he requested it, Claude would be by his side when he met with Felix, ready to step in if things became too heated or upsetting.

That was what Claude was offering. It was not a light offer, and Dimitri considered it dutifully. It would comfort him to have Claude near, he knew. But he did not wish to place Claude in the path of Felix’s anger, particularly not knowing how that anger might have changed. How _Felix_ might have changed.

And more than that, he felt that he needed to do this himself. It was only right.

“No,” he said. “Thank you for your offer. I’ll manage this alone - I owe Felix that much, at least.”

Claude nodded, though there was concern in his eyes. But he trusted Dimitri’s choices, sometimes even when Dimitri did not. Despite Dimitri’s illness, despite the depths to which he had fallen, Claude had always treated him as if he were still a man. Not a monster, not a broken thing, but a man like any other.

If Dimitri had not had a hundred other reasons to love Claude, that alone would have been enough.

“Well,” Claude said, summoning a smile, “I’ll get some rooms ready for him, then. He likes spicy food, doesn’t he? The cooks will be delighted. Usually our Fódlan guests can’t handle spices at all.”

“Perhaps Felix will impress them,” Dimitri said, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. Claude changed the subject after that, talking about an old tome he’d recently found in the library, and Dimitri let the sound of Claude’s voice, his obvious delight, soothe him.

It would be all right. This needed to be done, even if it was painful.

***

They met on neutral ground, or as close to it as was possible. Thaddea had suggested that, had calmly asked if Dimitri was certain he would be able to handle whatever Felix might say to him. She’d suggested meeting somewhere other than his rooms, so that if needed he could retreat to them suddenly rather than imploring Felix to leave.

It wasn’t that Dimitri feared Felix’s anger. It was that he knew he deserved it. He knew that though Claude had accepted his shattered self without hesitation, though Dedue had been loyal to him regardless, and though Ashe had only been happy he was alive, Felix had all the reason in the world to be angry. A thousand reasons, most of them things he had been saying since he was a child.

And those reasons were not wrong. Dimitri _had_ lost himself. He had fallen into bloodlust and madness, had hurt those around him because of it. Thaddea spoke to him about guilt sometimes, about not allowing it to become chains that tied him to his past, and sometimes he could listen. Other times he could not.

These days he could control his ghosts most of the time. He could ignore them, allowing the world to press in upon him and remind him of what was real until they were banished, or near enough. But he had not achieved that with his guilt. He was not sure he ever would. But for a very long time he hadn’t believed that he _should_ , either.

Still, sometimes, he did not believe it. This was a burden he deserved to carry. But sometimes Thaddea made sense, sometimes he could believe that he would be stronger, braver if he accepted his guilt and put it away, allowed himself to grow beyond it. Perhaps someday he would truly believe that.

He wasn’t there yet, and knew that he might crumple under the weight of Felix’s righteous anger.

So they met in one of the many sitting rooms dotting the palace, meant for private meetings or quiet teatimes or assignations in the dusky evenings. This one was decorated in a simple but elegant style, all clean lines and rich colors. It would not distract his gaze - there would be little for his mind to be caught by if his control began to slip.

Felix was already there when he arrived.

He stood in the middle of the room. He looked so much like himself still, slender with set shoulders, wrapped in layers even in the warmth of Almyra. His hair was long and pulled up in a twist. It was barely visible, but when Felix turned his head Dimitri could see the light glint off a few stray strands of gray.

They had all gotten older.

Felix looked at him, and Dimitri looked back, and for a moment it was like those years did not exist.

So many of Dimitri’s memories were hazy now, some gone entirely. But he could remember vividly Felix as a child, his dearest friend. The games they would play, the way Felix’s emotions were always so close to the surface - his laughter, his tears. The way they had both believed they knew the future: Dimitri as king, Felix as his loyal right hand. 

He could remember, too, how it had been after everything had changed. After the Tragedy of Duscur, after his first lapse into bloodlust, after they’d gone to the Officer’s Academy together. Felix still expected to be his right hand, struggling under the expectations of that. Curdling his emotions into anger because it was easier to deal with, hating Dimitri because he had been the only one to see what Dimitri truly was beneath the princely exterior he’d tried so hard to maintain.

And though it was hazy, though he was missing important moments and his memories tapered into darkness after Gronder Field, Dimitri remembered Felix during the war. Just bits and pieces - the anger, the resistance to Dimitri’s commands though he always, always obeyed in the end. He’d fought at Dimitri’s side despite that, and even now Dimitri did not know if that had been because he’d truly wanted to or because he simply hadn’t known what else to do.

And this Felix before him, Felix now -

He did not know what to expect. There was silence between them for a long, painful moment.

“So you are alive,” Felix said, shattering it. He looked at Dimitri with narrowed eyes, staying distant, staying guarded. “I wasn’t sure the letter was true.”

“I wrote it myself,” Dimitri said, because he wasn’t sure what else to say.

Felix raised a hand as if to wave off that little detail. “I recognized your hand. But who’s to say that Claude doesn’t have someone who can imitate that sort of thing? It seemed too fantastical to be true. You have been dead for eleven years.”

He said it so bluntly, but Dimitri could not read his expression. Felix had changed - they all had. He guarded himself differently now, and where once Dimitri could have picked out threads of emotion from the play of light across his face, now he could read nothing.

“And you did not believe Dedue, either?” Dimitri asked.

“He would want you to be alive,” Felix said. “No doubt he would wish for it strongly enough to fool himself, because he would want to be fooled.” He paused. “But when Ashe said the same thing, it seemed more plausible. So I came.”

“So you did,” Dimitri said. He took a breath. “Felix, I -”

“No.” Felix cut him off, sharp and sudden. “Don’t apologize. Don’t explain yourself. I’m trying to decide how I feel about this.” His words were bitten off, as cutting as they ever had been so long ago. “I’m trying to decide if I was happier when you were dead.”

It hurt. Of course it did. But Dimitri could not say he had not expected this, and so he waited. He waited, and Felix looked at him, and the silence stretched between them.

Then Felix sighed, an explosive puff of air, and shook his head. “I suppose it doesn’t matter either way. Here you are alive.” He took a step closer to Dimitri, looking up at him. “Boars aren’t so easy to kill.”

Dimitri had thought he might wince at the name, be hurt by it. Instead it felt - oddly reassuring. Whatever else may have changed, Felix was, in some ways, still the same.

“I do wish to apologize,” he said then, and Felix scowled.

“I don’t want your apology. I don’t even want to know what you were going to apologize for.” He crossed his arms. “I had plenty of time to think on the way here. I thought I might feel differently when I saw you, but I don’t. I don’t want your apologies or your explanations. I only want answers. Are you going back to Faerghus? Are you going to try to take the throne?”

“No.” Dimitri said it firmly. There would be no waffling, no hesitation. He had made his decision even before Dedue had arrived, the first of his old friends to see him as he was now. “I do not ever intend to return to Fódlan again.”

Felix looked at him for another long, silent moment. His eyes were sharp. “Then why did you call us here? I know Ingrid and that idiot Sylvain are on their way. Why even tell us you’re alive, if you aren’t going to be our prince again?”

It wasn’t a plea. It was a challenge, and Dimitri felt suddenly that if he failed to meet it, he would lose Felix forever.

This was a strange and incredible thought, because he had thought that he’d lost Felix long ago.

He took a deep breath, shut out Glenn’s voice whispering _you’re nothing if you’re not the prince_ , and answered.

“I’m not that man anymore. I am not the man who could have been king, who accepted that burden. I never will be again. I did not break, Felix. I shattered completely, and what I am now is built from the remains of that. What I am now is something else.” It had been something Thaddea said, when Dimitri had spiraled into the depths of guilt, of self-recrimination, of despair. A strange thing to say, perhaps, but it had given him hope. 

There had always been a part of him that wanted to be something else. A part who wished for a friend who would treat him as an equal, rather than their lord. A part that cared deeply, deeply enough to wound, deeply enough to make it difficult to be a king. 

If the war had gone differently, if his life had gone differently, he might have found a way to reconcile that. But it had not. It had shattered him instead, and now what that meant was that he had a chance to be something else. A chance to find another path.

He met Felix’s eyes.

“But I am not that beast anymore, either. And I will do everything in my power to ensure that I never am again. I will not be your king, but I still wish to be your friend. You, Sylvain, Ingrid - that’s what we were, once.” He closed his eye then, the memory suddenly so bright as to be painful. “You were my first friend, Felix. Perhaps you were happier believing I was dead. Perhaps it was selfish of me to destroy that, to call you here. If you wish to walk away, I will not force you to stay.”

Felix scoffed, and Dimitri opened his eye. “Idiot. I didn’t come all the way to Almyra to turn around and leave.” He was scowling, a familiar expression, but the sharpness in his gaze was gone. He wasn’t looking at Dimitri at all, in fact, instead looking as if he was scowling at one of the endtables, as if its mere presence offended him.

Dimitri felt something in his chest unclench. Felix, it seemed, had not changed so terribly much.

“Claude’s hospitality is worth the trip,” he said, feeling somehow that things were going to be all right. “And - I would like to speak with you. To learn of the paths you’ve walked since my - failure.”

Felix turned that scowl properly on him, then. “I wouldn’t call that a _failure_ ,” he said, though he neglected to explain what he _would_ call it. “And don’t think I don’t have questions about why Claude von Riegan - _King Khalid_ , whatever - is putting you up in his palace.” He uncrossed his arms, but somehow still managed to look annoyed. “I’ll stay for awhile. At least until the others get here.”

Dimitri wondered how long it had been since Felix saw Ingrid or Sylvain. He decided that now was not the time to ask.

“Felix,” he said instead, painfully earnest, “I’m glad you came.”

Felix pressed his lips together, clearly having some kind of an internal struggle, but in the end all he said was, “Whatever,” and it was so very _Felix_ that Dimitri had to hold back a smile.

***

Felix stayed. Claude gave him one of the guest rooms, showed him where the training ground was, and gave him leave to practice with whoever he could convince to be his opponent. He invited Felix to the court dinners, and smiled at him, and then let him do as he pleased.

“I always thought of Felix as being like a cat,” Claude said, the night after he’d arrived, as he and Dimitri were having another quiet dinner. “One of the less friendly ones. Pay him too much attention and he’ll run right off. But give him food and something to scratch, and let him roam as he likes, and eventually he’ll make his way back around to you.”

It was rather dubiously phrased, but Dimitri had to admit that it wasn’t inaccurate. He let Felix do as he liked too, though he was not quite able to give him as much distance as Claude did.

They had a few meals together, and tea once. Dimitri walked with him in the gardens. He attended the court dinners when he knew Felix would be there. And things were - better than he feared, though not as easy as he might have hoped. They spoke in halting ways, talking about Felix’s travels, Dimitri’s renewed training, the years that had passed. Conversation did not flow easily between them, and sometimes Felix would stalk off in annoyance. Once or twice Dimitri had to retreat himself, a word or a look or something unknown pushing him to the verge of collapse.

But he knew how to deal with that now. He knew how to tell when it was coming, and when to retreat. And he did not try to hide it, did not try to suppress it or pretend it wasn’t happening. He apologized and left, and found somewhere safe where he could master himself.

Throughout all of this, Felix watched him carefully, and Dimitri knew why. He was looking for evidence of the boar, the monster he hated so much, the side of Dimitri that he had seen before anyone else. It was uncomfortable, it put Dimitri on edge, but at the same time - it felt like a real test. One that he very much wanted to pass.

Claude thought the best of him. Claude had believed in him since the beginning, since the days Dimitri could only remember in hazy bursts. Despite everything, when Claude looked at him he never saw a beast. And Thaddea, who had seen him break down again and again, seen him struggle for his own sanity, had never truly seen him at his worst. Dimitri could explain it, could pour his guilt out into words, but she had never seen him with his hands soaked in blood.

Felix had seen it. Felix had seen him lose himself, had hated him for it. Felix studied him, watching for the beast that might be buried underneath, watching to see if Dimitri had lied to him.

And since in truth Dimitri was not always certain of himself, it felt right. It felt _helpful_ to have Felix there, watching him, waiting to see if he could pass this test.

He wondered what Felix saw.

When Sylvain and Ingrid arrived, he still wasn’t sure.

He met them together, but though Dimitri issued an invitation, Felix declined to be there as well. Dimitri supposed that he knew it would likely be an emotional meeting, and wanted to avoid that - or perhaps there was more to it. As far as Dimitri knew, Felix had not seen either of them for years. Claude had said that according to his information they’d all gone their separate ways after the war. There was too much unknown there, too much Dimitri could not anticipate or understand, and so when Felix said he’d see them at dinner, Dimitri did not protest.

He met Sylvain and Ingrid in another audience room. It was utterly unlike his meeting with Felix - Ingrid embraced him immediately and wept onto his shoulder, marveling at his miraculous survival. Even Sylvain was not dry-eyed, and he clasped Dimitri’s arm with fervor and friendship.

They both looked older, just as he did. Sylvain had grown a beard, and though it was well-groomed and Dimitri thought it looked rather dashing, Ingrid didn’t agree. For her own part, Dimitri noticed a scar cutting through Ingrid’s eyebrow, a blow that must have barely missed her eye.

“You two would have matched,” Sylvain said with a grin, and Dimitri found himself heartened that his old friend still retained some of the humor he used to wield like a weapon. 

“It was after the war,” Ingrid said, touching the scar for just a moment. “Bandits, just after I’d taken charge of Galatea territory.” She smiled. “They fell easily. This was a lucky blow, but we didn’t have any proper healers at the time. I see it as a trophy, I suppose.”

She was doing well for herself. She was _happy_ , and her responsibilities as Lady Galatea and a knight in service to the king rested well upon her shoulders.

For a moment, Dimitri thought about what it might have been like if she had been his knight. If they all had been, as they were meant to be so long ago. It was a strangely unsettling thought, a glimpse into what might have been, and he shook it off before he could wander too far down that path.

They talked then, in that private room. Ingrid spoke of her work, her dedication. Sylvain spoke of his efforts toward peace with Sreng, and he spoke with a quiet competence that made pride swell in Dimitri’s chest. He knew that Sylvain had struggled, when they were young, with his position as heir - with his life as a crest-bearer. But it seemed that he had found some balance, found a way to accomplish something besides simply passing on his crest.

So had Ingrid. It was - humbling to see them like this, incredible to see how far they had come. He remembered meeting Dedue again, and Ashe, also so far down the paths they had chosen. And he, now, was still only finding his path.

But it helped to see them. It helped to speak to them, to know that they were well, to repeat what he had told Dedue and Ashe and Felix: that he would not be king again. That from now on, he would be just a man.

“I can’t blame you,” Sylvain said with a grin. “You’ve got a pretty good deal here. Personal guest of the king? Who’d wanna give that up?”

Ingrid elbowed him and rolled her eyes, and for a moment it was like they were all children again. “Don’t be an ass.”

“It’s all right,” Dimitri said, smiling. “Claude has been very kind to me.”

Sylvain’s eyes on him were a little too knowing, a little too sharp. Dimitri decided that for now it was best to ignore that. “Felix will join us for dinner,” he said. “I thought a private meal for the four of us would be best.”

Ingrid nodded her agreement, and Sylvain grinned, and they went their separate ways - Ingrid and Sylvain to settle into the rooms Claude had given them, Dimitri to take some time to himself. To sit quietly, and practice some breathing exercises, and center himself.

It had been so difficult at first, speaking to people again. He was glad now that he had begun with people who did not know him - Thaddea, the servants, Claude’s royal guard. They had nothing to compare him to, could not see the cracks in him as easily. And Claude, of course, was a different story. Surely he could see those cracks, could see all the ways that Dimitri now was unlike the man from the war, the boy from school. But by now Dimitri knew that to Claude, those things did not matter. That he simply took Dimitri as he was.

It had helped him ease into socialization again, these strange Almyrans, those from other lands. When he took time to find the right words, when he needed a moment to remind himself what was real and what wasn’t, they assumed nothing more than that he was a strange Fódlan man, unused to Almyran customs and language.

It was different with people he knew. He’d grown somewhat used to talking with the folk here, but now - now he was talking to people who had known him. Had known him better than nearly anyone else, could see the moments he faltered, the many ways he’d changed.

They had never seen that broken wreck of a creature he’d been at the beginning. They could not know how far he had come, they could only see how far he still was from what he’d once been expected to be.

Dimitri tried not to let it bother him, but his thoughts circled sometimes, his ghosts whispered in his ears. And then he needed time. He counted himself deeply lucky that he was able to take that time, that he was able to find equilibrium once again. That he no longer felt like one false move would shatter him into a thousand pieces, turn him back into a beast again.

By the time dinnertime arrived, he was ready.

And it was - awkward, at first. Sylvain and Ingrid arrived first, but they had only just entered Dimitri’s rooms when Felix came in. 

He knocked twice, harsh and perfunctory, and then entered. Dimitri began to stand to greet him, but Ingrid shot up out of her seat and stood straight and tall, a frown tugging her lips down.

“I can’t believe it takes something like this to get you to see us,” Ingrid said. “It’s been _seven years_ , Felix, and you don’t even have the excuse of being dead.”

Dimitri, halfway to standing, had frozen awkwardly. He’d known, of course, that things were not entirely well between his friends, but - seven years? What had Felix been thinking? Had he truly wished to distance himself from them so much? And yet he was here. Dimitri did not know what to think.

“Aw, Ingrid,” Sylvain said, still relaxed in his seat. “Don’t give him a hard time. At least he wrote, right? Oh, wait. He didn’t.” There was something sharp and ugly in Sylvain’s eyes, for all that his voice was light. It was something Dimitri had once seen often, when Sylvain was particularly intent on doing something that would in the end only hurt him.

Felix’s shoulders tensed, and his mouth opened to say something that would almost certainly only set things aflame. He had not changed so much that Dimitri could not see that within him.

“Enough,” he said, and even he was surprised by the power his voice held. The certainty that they would obey him. He was not a king anymore, did not wish to be, and yet - 

And yet they obeyed. The set of Sylvain’s mouth softened and he sat back in his chair. Felix looked away, saying nothing. Ingrid sighed, stepped forward, and pulled Felix into a hug. Dimitri saw him tense, saw the brief expression of surprise that flitted across his face, but he didn’t pull away.

“Sit down,” Dimitri said, “and let’s eat.”

And they did. Whatever had gone between them, it wasn’t Dimitri’s to fix, he knew - he had been gone from their lives too long to have any insight to offer, and who was he to offer insight in any case? But perhaps simply bringing them here, simply forcing them to confront each other, would enact some kind of change.

He didn’t know. He was not equipped to make it happen. What mattered, Dimitri decided in the end, was that they were here. That they had come here to see him, despite - because of? - everything.

Once they were past the awkwardness, dinner turned out to be surprisingly nice. Felix liked Almyran food, and his arrival before the other two had given him some familiarity with the work of the palace kitchens. In his blunt way, he pointed out what was spicy and what wasn’t, what he particularly liked and what he was less fond of. It was a practical approach that eased them into more general conversation about travels and foreign food and the world outside of Fódlan that they had all, to a greater or lesser extent, been able to experience.

The subject of Felix’s abandonment of the Fraldarius lands and title was avoided, as was his long absence from his friends’ lives, and Dimitri judged that wise. If anything, it all felt - comfortable. He remembered how they had once been, how there had always been some level of tension between the four of them - usually, to be fair, between Felix and himself. This was different, but still strangely familiar.

And, regardless of anything else, he was happy to see his friends again.


	2. Chapter 2

Felix, Ingrid, and Sylvain stayed in Almyra as guests of the king for a handful of weeks. Claude was an excellent host - Dimitri, of course, had expected nothing less. He provided servants to escort his guests to wherever in the city they pleased, as well as leave to come and go as they wished. He invited them to his court dinners, with a reminder that there, Dimitri was Nicolai, simply another warrior from Fódlan.

He did not often go into the city with them - the amount of people could still be too overwhelming for him at times - but they each, separately and together, spent time with him in the palace. He and Ingrid walked through the wyvern stables, she telling him about her work as a knight, he listening with interest as they both admired the fearsome creatures. Sylvain coaxed him into a game or two of chess in his rooms, which Dimitri was absolutely terrible at no matter how Sylvain attempted to go easy on him.

And Felix trained with Claude’s guard, and watched Dimitri like a hawk, and mostly avoided the others.

Finally, Dimitri could not stand it anymore. He invited Sylvain to his rooms for tea, and fixed him with a steady gaze, and said, “I know that Felix has always been difficult. But what happened to cause this discord? It was not… it was not like this during the war.”

He thought. In truth, that was one of the many things that Dimitri couldn’t remember clearly. He remembered the war. He remembered fighting. He remembered his own rage, his madness, his ghosts. He remembered his friends _being_ there, and he even remembered some of the things they had said, the things they had done. But he had been solely focused on his own pain and on the one who had caused it - he wasn’t sure he would even have noticed if relations between his friends had been this poor.

He had been a terrible king, and a worse friend. He could try to fix part of that now.

Sylvain shrugged, toyed with the delicate, brightly-painted teacup in his hands. “Oh, you know. We grew apart. It happens all the time.”

“Sylvain,” Dimitri said, and there was a note of warning in his voice this time.

Sylvain laughed and set the cup down, raising his hands in peace. “Wow, okay. Here I thought Claude had managed to completely defang you, but it turns out you’ve still got some teeth.”

“Claude saved me,” Dimitri said, bristling at the implied insult. But he knew why Sylvain had said it, and as much as he wanted to defend Claude’s honor - wanted to tear apart anyone who would impugn it, even Sylvain - he would not allow Sylvain to distract him so easily. “Do not try to change the subject.”

Sylvain sighed, and the smile faded from his face, leaving something much more weary behind. “All right, all right. It just doesn’t… sound great.”

Dimitri only needed to raise his eyebrows, incline his head a touch, as if to say _What do you think I expected?_ Sylvain shook his head, a rueful smile returning to his lips.

“After the war… well, after Gronder Field, actually, we kind of all fell apart. Losing you hit us hard.” He met Dimitri’s eyes, a sadness there that Dimitri had seen before, had seen in Dedue and Ashe and Ingrid. He had hurt his friends so deeply, through his madness and his anger and his death. He could never hope to make up for that, but - but he could listen, at least. And so he did. 

“We went back to Faerghus to fight the Empire’s forces there. Ingrid, Felix, and I - I don’t know if we really thought it would do any good, but after everything… I don’t know. Fighting was all there was left. That held us together for a little while. But then Claude won the war, and Faerghus was safe. For a while longer, there were still things to do - Imperial forces to mop up, bandits to fight. After that, though…” Sylvain shrugged. “We had a funeral for you.”

He said it bluntly. He wasn’t looking at Dimitri now, lost in his own memories.

“There was no body, but more than a few had seen you struck down. Not a single one of us imagined you might still be alive. So we buried you, and then - then there was nothing to hold us together.” Sylvain smiled then, a painful thing to look at. “We were all grieving in our own ways. Felix said he was going to leave, and I convinced him to come to Gautier with me. I told him he could help repel raids from Sreng, but really I just didn’t want him to disappear.” 

There was silence for a long, uncomfortable moment.

“There weren’t any raids, though. Nothing for him to do. He got antsy, got angry. We argued a lot, I tried to convince him to stay and he kept letting me convince him, just for a day or two, but I knew it wouldn’t last. So - so I slept with him. Just once. In retrospect, it was a pretty bad idea. Wine was involved.”

It was - not a surprise, exactly. It seemed exactly like something Sylvain, young and unhappy and recovering from a war, might do. Try to keep Felix close while simultaneously doing the one thing that would push him away more firmly than anything else. Dimitri knew them both, had known them both so well. He saw how it must have unfolded.

“He thought you did it just so he’d stay,” Dimitri said. Sylvain nodded, still looking away. “And so, of course, he left.”

Sylvain raised his arms and shrugged. “And he hasn’t spoken to me since. He still writes Ingrid letters sometimes, and Ashe, and Annette - so I know he’s still alive, at least.” His mouth twisted into a bitter little smile. “But this is the first time I’ve seen him in person since then.”

“Have you spoken to him?”

“I know that I have to,” Sylvain said. “I’ve gotta clear this all up. It’s gone on for too long, and… well. I guess I was just gonna let it go on forever, if that was what Felix wanted.” He laughed, light and painful. “But then our friend miraculously came back from the dead, and that’s got me rethinking a lot of stuff about my life.”

The faintest of smiles rose to Dimitri’s lips, hearing that. He could not be the king they had all meant for him to be, but if his presence in their lives - his reappearance - could be a catalyst for needed change, he thought that was perhaps even more meaningful.

“Of course, that would mean I’d have to get him alone, and he hasn’t been letting that happen. At all.”

Dimitri thought back to their various activities. Yes, Felix had accompanied them, and had even gone off with only Ingrid and Sylvain to explore the city. He had spoken with Dimitri alone, and he had once come upon Ingrid and Felix sharing tea in one of the gardens. But now that he thought about it, he had not seen Felix spare time for Sylvain yet. Not at all.

He set that aside, a problem to worry over later. Something to ask Claude about, perhaps, because he always had insight about those sorts of things, though he’d have to be careful to avoid spilling his friends’ secrets.

Though, since it was Claude, odds were good he already knew.

Before that, though, Dimitri raised his head, catching Sylvain’s eye. His expression was serious, even a bit forbidding. “Answer one final question for me, Sylvain, and I will not accept dishonesty or avoidance. Did you do it just so he’d stay?” 

They were both his friends - had both been his friends. They were both dear to him, and both deeply damaged in their own ways, which Dimitri could see more clearly now, after all he had been through. But though he wished to mend what had been broken, he could not countenance doing so if that would only create more pain. And so he watched Sylvain, watched the play of emotions behind his eyes, and wished he could read people as well as Claude could.

Finally, Sylvain sighed and responded. “I thought so, at the time. I thought he had a thing for me, maybe, and that if I gave him that he’d stick around.”

“That was stupid of you,” Dimitri said, and Sylvain grinned then, genuinely amused.

“It was _really_ stupid of me. I swear I’ve gotten smarter since then, all right? Felix and I… well, we’ve got a lot of things we need to settle. But I can promise you I’m not gonna do something that stupid again.”

Dimitri turned those words over in his mind. There was an obvious conclusion here, even if Sylvain had not said it in so many words, but he didn’t want to make assumptions. “Claude says that you have not married.”

Sylvain’s eyebrows rose just a little before his smile evened out, became casual again. “Can’t deny that. How could I be so cruel as to tie all of _this_ down?” He gestured broadly at himself. “It would be a tragedy for all the maidens of Faerghus. No - all the maidens of _Fódlan_.”

Sighing, Dimitri shook his head. In some ways, Sylvain had not changed, and now there was an odd sort of familiarity to it. Claude did the same thing - changing the subject with light chatter when it got too close to something painful. And so he did exactly what he might have done with Claude, what always seemed to disarm him. Direct honesty.

“If it’s because of Felix, that’s all the more reason to speak with him.” Sylvain had gone very still. Dimitri continued. “I won’t presume to know anything about his feelings, or indeed yours. But I wish for the best for you both.”

Sylvain’s laughter then was a little weak, a little uncertain. “Wow, Your High - ah, Dimitri. Really coming out there swinging, aren’t you?” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m not the only one of us who hasn’t gotten married, you know.”

“Ingrid has no interest in it,” Dimitri said. He had been assured of this fact by Ingrid herself, who had also said that it wasn’t because of her father, or Glenn, or any of the obvious excuses - but rather simply because she enjoyed being alone, enjoyed the simplicity of her life and her work, and saw no need to alter that with an unnecessary marriage.

She’d seemed so comfortable and certain of herself. Dimitri had been a bit envious.

“I wasn’t talking about Ingrid,” Sylvain said, and the way he smiled made Dimitri wary. “I figured I might find you with an Almyran beauty on your arm, after staying here for so long - after you said you weren’t coming back to Faerghus. But I really didn’t anticipate that it would be the _king_.”

Dimitri felt his cheeks heat, knew that he was going a telltale red. “Claude and I are not - involved in that way.”

“No?” Sylvain looked at him, speculative, a little smug. “Well, I guess I don’t know about him. He’s always been hard to read. But you? Come on, Dimitri, I have eyes. I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

Was he that obvious? It was true that he found his eyes drawn to Claude nearly anytime it was possible. And they had eaten with Claude at court dinners, and less often when Claude had been able to join them for private meals. Perhaps he was that obvious - perhaps Ingrid knew, and Felix. Perhaps even Claude knew.

Dimitri did not know how he felt about that.

“I, of all people, know the pressures that a king is under. I am not a suitable partner for him.” Truly, Dimitri did not think that needed to be said. Surely Sylvain could see the truth of it - surely anyone could. He had said the same thing to Thaddea before. He had little to offer Claude, and Claude - more than anyone - deserved the world.

Sylvain shook his head slowly, eyes turning sharp. “They do things different here, you know. Claude can have whatever kind of partner he wants - he only needs to marry if he wants a consort, someone to rule with him. And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t.”

The truth was that Dimitri did not know. He’d learned a lot about Almyra since his arrival, but he had not made any attempt to learn about its traditions regarding courting, marriage, and romance. He would not have been able to say exactly why, but - perhaps he was afraid. 

In Faerghus, it would be unthinkable for a man like him to consider courting the king. He was a guest of the throne, but he was not a noble. He did not truly have _any_ position within Claude’s court. That had attracted little attention, because it seemed Claude had long been in the habit of inviting anyone he found interesting to spend some time in his palace, eat at his table, make connections with his people and his country. Some had stayed longer than others - some, like Claude’s guards Eloise and Vinay, had never left. Such a casual attitude was not common in Faerghus, or really anywhere in Fódlan.

There, Dimitri would need to be a noble with considerable riches and power to even consider courting the king. Anything else would be laughable, bordering on insulting. Here… here, he didn’t know. But Dimitri had no desire to do anything that could be construed as an insult to Claude, nothing that could be used against him in any way.

He owed Claude his sanity, his very selfhood. He owed Claude more than he could ever possibly repay. What kind of offering was the love of a broken madman? Even if his courtship would not be an insult, why would Claude ever dream of accepting it?

“You might as well shoot your shot,” Sylvain continued, and his smile was a little softer now. All of his edges seemed softer these days - the effect of growing older, perhaps, of growing into himself. “What’s the worst that could happen? It’s Claude.” He leaned forward. “You know he would never be cruel to you.”

Dimitri did know that. Claude’s kindness was what had kept him alive. It was what had illuminated his path, allowing him to find it even when he was so lost it seemed impossible. Claude would not be cruel to him. 

But Dimitri’s greatest fear was not that Claude would be cruel to him. It was that he would hurt Claude somehow, when all he wanted to do was care for him, protect him, love him.

“It isn’t that simple,” he said, and then he frowned. “And while I may have asked you for advice once upon a time, Sylvain, until you have mended things with Felix I cannot say that you are a wise choice for that sort of thing.”

“Ouch,” Sylvain said, laughing, “you’ve got me there. But I really am going to, as soon as he lets me get him alone.” He leaned back in his chair, looking at Dimitri, calculation in his eyes. “And then you’ll have to seriously think about talking to Claude. I mean, if I can be honest about my feelings, anyone can.”

Dimitri went silent, eyes on his abandoned teacup. Could he really watch Sylvain face Felix’s anger, be honest about his feelings, make space in his life for love, and not believe that he could do the same? His heart was full of confusion and his head was beginning to ache, but he had to admit that Sylvain had a point.

“Very well,” he said, raising his head. “I will… consider it.”

Sylvain grinned, and for a moment he looked so much like the boy he had once been. When they were young - before everything fell apart. “Now _that’s_ more like it.”

***

It was a week before their visit was set to end that Felix came to Dimitri’s door, knocked coolly, and said, “Spar with me.”

Dimitri could not tell if things between them had improved. Felix still watched him, but he thought that perhaps he’d become more relaxed about it. They spoke more easily, and Felix seemed slightly more willing to spend time with him alone - though Dimitri had noticed that he still seemed to be avoiding Sylvain.

So Dimitri wanted to believe that Felix’s opinion of him had risen. In truth, though, he could not tell, and that was part of the reason that he only hesitated for a moment before agreeing.

As soon as he’d changed and collected his training gear, Dimitri began to wonder if it was such a good idea. It was true that he’d been training with Claude’s personal guard regularly. It was true that he was able to control his strength most of the time, and himself nearly all of the time. It was true that he’d begun to feel like he could fight without fear of losing himself, without his ghosts haunting each stroke.

But sparring with Felix, a living and breathing reminder of the monster he had once been, would be the ultimate test of those things.

And if he failed? If he hurt Felix, if he lost himself? Dimitri knew that forgiveness would be impossible. He would prove Felix’s worst fears correct. More than that, he would prove his own worst fears correct. For a moment, he considered changing his mind. He considered telling Felix no, or even sending a servant to do so for him.

But if he did not do this now, when could he? How would he ever feel like he could truly trust himself?

And so in the end, Dimitri entered the training hall, raised his lance in a respectful salute, and they began.

No one was there to watch - unsurprising, since Dimitri hadn’t told anyone, and he couldn’t imagine Felix doing so. It worried him briefly. If he lost control, there would be no one there to stop him, no one to take him down. But that was another fear he needed to conquer, and he thought of what Thaddea said so often.

_Your future belongs only to you._

Dimitri knew he would likely spend the rest of his life frightened of losing himself again, of what he might become. But being frightened was not the same thing as living in fear, as losing opportunities and hope and possibilities because of that fear.

He could be afraid and still forge his path despite that. This, too, was proof of that.

And so they fought.

Felix still fought as he once had, all speed and surprising strength, his sword quick and deadly. He had new tricks, likely learned over his years as a mercenary - a twist of the wrist that nearly disarmed Dimitri, a parry that used his attacker’s momentum to slide him into a new stance. But beneath that were the sword forms they had learned together so long ago. They had spent snowy winters and cool summers together as children, practicing swordplay from such a young age. Dimitri knew these movements, knew this pacing.

Of course, he’d learned things as well. He’d learned from Firuzeh especially, but Vinay as well, and he was able to surprise Felix once or twice. Their fight was like a dance that they both knew the steps to, but that changed with one rhythm or the other, faster or slower, a misstep here and a new move there.

It was thrilling. Sweat beaded on Dimitri’s temples, his heart pounded, and all thought fell away except where the next blow would come from. The pure exhilaration of the fight seized him, and when he saw an opening - momentary, barely there - he took it. A hard strike from his lance, and Felix’s sword clattered from his hands, Felix stumbling back with the force of the blow. Dimitri spun his lance, slipped the blunt end behind Felix’s ankle, and in a moment he was on his back on the floor, Dimitri’s lance at his throat.

They were both breathing hard. For the briefest moment, Dimitri thought Felix nearly smiled, but - he was probably imagining it. He backed away, offered a hand to help Felix up. Felix ignored it and stood on his own, brushing himself off and retrieving his sword.

“Your skills are passable,” he said, and Dimitri found himself on the verge of smiling. What a very Felix thing to say.

“Thank you,” he said, controlling his expression. “I have been practicing.”

“Hm,” Felix said. He weighed the blade in his hand, looked at Dimitri speculatively. “You’ll have to, won’t you, if you expect to become one of the king’s guard.”

Dimitri stared, his mind suddenly blank. “What?”

Felix scowled, looking at him like he was an idiot. It was a familiar look, and without the hatred and fear that had once laced through it. “Isn’t that why you’re sticking around?”

Dimitri did not know what to say. He wondered if he ought to protest, say that wasn’t it, but - suddenly he wasn’t sure that was true. It had not been consciously on his mind, but now that Felix had said it aloud he could imagine it, could imagine joining Claude’s royal guard and dedicating his life to protecting the man who had given him that life back.

The idea of it was overwhelming. Suddenly he wanted it more than anything.

“I suppose that is true,” Dimitri said, slow and uncertain.

Claude’s personal guards gave up their former lives to serve him. If they had titles, they passed them on; if they had lands they gave them away. They kept nothing that would threaten their loyalty to their king, and if they found that loyalty becoming compromised in any way, their vows demanded that they immediately tell their king and relinquish their position.

Firuzeh had mentioned once that previous kings had been much more lax about that sort of thing - that the king’s guard had been allowed to amass wealth, their families rewarded with land and titles held ‘in trust’ for them. But Claude did not do that. He asked for true loyalty, and as a result his guard was smaller but fiercer than those in the past had been. They were utterly loyal, each and every one of them. Their needs were provided for, they lived comfortable lives, but those lives belonged to Claude until such a day as he released them from their vows.

Each of those who had sworn themselves to Claude had chosen this. Dimitri did not know their reasons, but he had never once questioned why they would choose to do so. Claude deserved loyalty - deserved to have people around him who he could trust implicitly, who would protect him, who would never hurt him. He was a good king, a kind and clever man. 

Dimitri could imagine it. Using his strength, his skill to protect rather than to kill. Staying by Claude’s side for as long as he was needed. Helping him acheive his goals, and more than that, helping to give him moments where he truly felt safe, places where he truly belonged. 

He had loved Claude for a very long time. But Dimitri did not know if he had ever made Claude feel truly, completely safe.

He wanted that.

“Hm,” Felix said. He hefted the practice blade in his hand, looked at Dimitri speculatively. “Perhaps you’ll make a better guard dog than a boar.”

It felt like - approval. It felt like, finally, Felix had made a decision about him. And if Felix could look at him and see that, could not Dimitri see it in himself, as well?

“Shall we go again?” he said, and raised his lance. As Felix shifted into a guard stance, Dimitri allowed himself to dream for a brief moment of kneeling at Claude’s feet. Pledging himself to Claude.

He wanted that.

***

It only took a few moment’s thought to realize who he should speak to about that, before anything else. While Dimitri’s heart seemed to have already decided his path for him, he needed to settle his mind as well. He wanted to believe that this was the right choice, but it was not a decision to be made in haste.

And so he knocked on Ingrid’s door early one evening. They were meant to take dinner with Claude’s court later, but he needed to talk to her privately. She let him in with only mild surprise - though Dimitri had not often visited any of his old friends’ rooms without warning, he knew they had visited each other often enough.

“I thought we would meet in the hall,” Ingrid said, “but of course it’s always nice to see you, Dimitri.”

When she spoke his name there was always the slightest of pauses first. Dimitri knew it was her reminding herself that he was no longer her king, that he had asked specifically to never be referred to as _Your Highness_ or _Your Majesty_. She’d slipped up more than once early on, as had Sylvain, but with her typical devotion to duty Ingrid had been very careful to alter her speech since. Dimitri appreciated it.

“I wanted to speak to you about something first,” he said. “I know that you have always wished to be a knight. Will you tell me why?”

They’d spoken about it before, he thought. Long, long ago, when they were both young and unaware of the future darkness that would befall them. But those memories were foggy, and Dimitri knew that both Ingrid and Fódlan had changed drastically. He didn’t know if her reasons were different now.

She looked at him for a long moment, but it didn’t seem like she was wondering why he was asking. More like she was thinking, was trying to decide exactly what to say. At last, she spoke.

“It used to be about - well, a fairy tale vision of knighthood. Helping people, protecting them, giving my life in service to the crown and my country.” She smiled just a bit, ruefully. “But the war taught me that fighting is brutal and bloody. There might be glory in it, but that’s mostly just what we tell ourselves to make it seem less awful afterwards. So, after the war… I don’t know how to explain it. I didn’t have any illusions about what knighthood could be anymore, but I still wanted something to believe in. Needed it badly, I suppose.”

She looked away from him then, and Dimitri knew then that it was his death - or perhaps his madness, even before that - that had left her with little to believe in. Another thing he could not possibly make up for. 

But Ingrid had found her path regardless. She had been far stronger than anyone might have thought. A true knight.

“Fódlan needed help, and I believed that King Byleth was genuinely doing the right thing. Seeing that… well, it was obvious. I could help, or I could stand by and allow others to do the work.” She shrugged. “There was only one path that felt right to me.”

Dimitri remembered the professor, their calm demeanor that was so hard to read. But they had always been wise, and he had respected them. Claude had told him how Fódlan had thrived under Byleth’s rule. Dimitri was content with that - content to leave the land that had once been his home in the hands of someone Claude trusted. Someone he remembered trusting, once upon a time.

“And the king. You are happy, serving them?” He knew that his story and Ingrid’s were wildly different. But she had a loyal heart, and she was the only one of all of them who had sworn herself to someone like that. Sworn herself the way Dimitri was now considering.

“Yes,” Ingrid said. She did not hesitate. “King Byleth is kind and smart, and genuinely cares about the people of Fódlan. I’ve never had reason to regret my vows, and I - I find that I am happy like this. With someone who I trust completely, who I can fight for.” She seemed to realize then just who she was speaking to, and her eyes widened. “Not that - I mean, I always wanted to be your knight. I would have been so happy to pledge myself to you as well, Dimitri -”

“It’s all right,” Dimitri said, and he smiled just enough to ease her worries. “I’m not asking about that. I never had a claim to your service, not really, and I want nothing more than to see you fight for something - someone - you believe in. It’s not that. It’s - “ He took a breath. It felt momentous to say this to someone, to state his intention. It felt real. “I wish to swear myself to Claude’s service.”

“Oh,” Ingrid said. She didn’t seem to know what else to say.

“It would not be the same as your knighthood. I would be serving in his personal guard, staying by his side unless he needed me to carry out a particular task. But I - always believed I would pledge myself to the land, to my kingdom. It was a heavy burden, but one I never considered laying down.” Dimitri thought of the boy he had been, once upon a time. Crushed by that burden, but unable to even imagine any other path.

But now it had been taken from him, and there was an immense freedom in that.

“I could do anything, I know. But I still… have ideals. I still want to make things better, in some small way. And Claude has given me so much.”

Ingrid’s brows drew down. “Don’t do something like that because you _owe_ him.”

“That’s not it,” Dimitri said, frustrated by his own inability to put his emotions into words. “I do owe him - that cannot be denied. But my debt to him cannot be repaid, not by this. Not by anything. I don’t want to repay him. I want to protect him, keep him safe. I want to stay by his side.” He met her eyes. “He is someone who I can trust completely, even when I have difficulty trusting myself. Someone who I can fight for, and know that they will never steer me wrong. And if I can use this strength - these skills - to protect, rather than to do harm… that is all I could ever ask for.”

Ingrid looked at him then with an emotion he could not read. She reached out and clasped his arm, gentle. “I think I understand. I think - I wanted the same thing, when I made my vows.” She smiled and added, “Well, maybe not _exactly_ the same thing. I didn’t know King Byleth that well personally. But if you’ve found someone you care for like that... I think that’s wonderful.”

Dimitri’s shoulders relaxed. He had not realized that they had been tense, that he had on some level feared that Ingrid would shake her head, would say _that’s no reason to swear your life to someone, you should be a king_. He inclined his head, found himself smiling. “I can only hope that Claude will accept me as part of his guard.”

At that, Ingrid laughed, startled. Dimitri stared at her, and she recovered herself a moment later, clearing her throat. “I don’t think you need to worry about that. He respects you very much - I can tell.”

He did not know why she had laughed, but decided not to press the point. It was enough to know that Ingrid, the most knightly person he knew, the one of all of them who had chosen to swear herself to another, did not think his reasons were wrong.

His heart was set, his mind clear. He knew now what he had to do.

***

But first, another matter needed to be settled. Dimitri had kept his nose out of it, not wishing to inflame old resentments, not wishing to meddle where he was not wanted. But his friends were set to leave in only a few days, and Felix and Sylvain had still not spoken. He could tell by the way Sylvain’s smile was perfectly fake when they were all together, by the way Felix avoided his eye and always found a reason to leave first so that they would never be alone together.

Dimitri had been patient long enough. These were his friends, who had journeyed all this way for him, who had shown him that they were still friends despite the wreckage of their pasts.

If they could do that for him, they could do it for each other.

He found Felix in his rooms. He answered the door to Dimitri’s knock, scowled at him, and said, “Well? What do you want?”

“I want you to speak to Sylvain,” Dimitri said, not mincing words.

Felix puffed up like an angry cat, shoulders rising, eyebrows drawing down. “That has nothing to do with you -”

“I know,” Dimitri said, cutting him off. “But I will not have this discord between you. You do not even need to speak to him, I suppose - simply allow him to speak to you, and listen. This is the last thing I will ever ask of you, Felix, as your friend and as the man who was meant to be your king.”

For a long, silent moment, Felix simply looked at him. Then he dropped his eyes and nodded, still frowning. “If he says something idiotic, you’re the one who’ll be responsible for what I do to him.” It was a final bit of bluster, and Dimitri saw it for what it was.

“I don’t think you have anything to fear,” he said, and he said it so gently that Felix looked at him in confusion.

And then he left, secure in the knowledge that he had done everything he could for his oldest, treasured friends.

***

Dimitri considered speaking to some of the other members of Claude’s guard first. He did not know if there was a formal procedure he needed to follow, if there were trials or tests or specific customs. Firuzeh would answer his questions, he was certain, but - now that he had made his decision, he saw no reason to dance around it.

After all, Claude could also answer his questions.

He wanted to do it right. He wanted to give Claude all the respect he was due as king. But he also wanted this to be private, because it felt so - so _big_. It was his life, after all. If there was anyone in the world he could talk to about this, it would be Claude.

“I haven’t seen as much of you lately,” Claude said. They were in Dimitri’s rooms, sharing tea, dinner having been eaten already. Claude smiled when he said it, but Dimitri thought it was not a completely sincere expression. He could tell most of the time, now.

“I’m sorry,” he said, but before he could say anything else, Claude was waving a hand and laughing, brushing his apology off. 

“Don’t be silly. Your friends are here. I might be a _tiny_ bit jealous that they’re getting so much of your time, but I can’t say they haven’t earned it, coming all this way.” His smile softened into something a little more real. “I know how happy they must be to see you again. If I were them, I’d want to cling on and never let you go.”

Dimitri found his cheeks heating at that. A ridiculous response, but he couldn’t help it, so he tried to ignore it. “They’re leaving in a few days.”

“Yes,” Claude said, and he looked down at his tea. “Will you be going with them?”

For a moment, all Dimitri could do was stare at him. Had he not been clear enough before? Did Claude think that his determination would waver, that his mind would change so easily?

Of course he did. Dimitri realized it with a sinking heart, and he wanted to reach out to Claude, to touch him, hold him as he once had. Claude had lived most of his life as an unwanted prince - and even as king, he had needed to work incredibly hard to earn the loyalty he had. Dimitri knew there had been assassination attempts, betrayals from allies, friends and lovers who only tried to use him.

As painful as it was to know that Claude had, at any point, questioned his loyalty, Dimitri could not blame him. He could only do his very best to prove him wrong.

“I’m not going back to Fódlan,” he said gently. “I decided that a long time ago.”

Claude looked at him with a rueful smile. “I thought seeing all your old friends might have changed your mind.”

“It is good to see them,” Dimitri said. He couldn’t deny that, nor would he have wanted to. “But there is nothing left for me in Fódlan. My future is here.” He took a breath, then, and met Claude’s eyes. “I wish to join your personal guard.”

This may have been the first time in all the years they’d known each other that Dimitri had seen Claude stunned into silence. He blinked at Dimitri, green eyes wide, and when he finally spoke it was with none of his usual casual ease.

“You - I didn’t… Firuzeh didn’t say anything.”

“I have not told her,” Dimitri said. “I wanted to speak to you first. Would you accept me, if I chose to offer you a vow of service?”

“Dimitri… I’ve always said that whatever path you decided to walk, I would support you. But I thought… I don’t know. I guess I thought that you’d want to go run an inn or be a farmer or something.” Claude scrubbed his hand over his face, a disbelieving half-smile on his lips. 

Part of Dimitri wanted to interpret this as a refusal, an immediate rejection. He could hear his father now, whispering in his ear, _Not even he would trust you at his back._ But that wasn’t real, and no one had shown him more trust than Claude. If he refused Dimitri now - well, of course Dimitri would accept that. But there was no reason to assume that he already had.

“What would I know of farming?” Dimitri said, and forced a smile to his lips. “I suppose I could learn, but I have always been a warrior. I wish to set my lance to protecting you, Claude. You of all people deserve such a thing.”

The faintest of color rose to Claude’s cheeks at that. “Are you sure this is what you want? You would have less time to yourself, you might have to fight - it would not be as peaceful as your life is now. Or as peaceful as farming, for that matter.”

Claude did not ask if Dimitri thought he could do it. He didn’t ask if Dimitri believed he’d recovered enough, didn’t ask if he was certain his ghosts would not destroy him. Of course he didn’t. Claude had always believed in him, more so than Dimitri had ever believed in himself. If Dimitri thought he was ready for something like this, Claude would not question it.

How could Dimitri not love him? How could he not want to pledge his life to Claude?

“I am certain.” Dimitri met Claude’s eyes, did not look away. “There’s nothing I want more. You have been a light guiding me out of the darkness for all the time that I have been here - and I’ve seen how hard you work for your country, for the people that you love. The world is a better place because you are in it. I can think of nothing more important than protecting that - protecting you.”

Claude dropped his face into his hands, but Dimitri could see the flush on the tips of his ears, not quite covered by his hair. “Ah, Goddess,” Claude moaned, “that sincerity of yours is a lethal weapon. Give me a moment.”

Dimitri did not think he could be anything but sincere when speaking of his feelings for Claude. He had to admit, however, that it was a tiny bit satisfying to know his words could have such an effect on someone who was usually so collected, so in control of himself.

He remembered the way Claude had looked at him sometimes when they were young, when they kissed in secret and he was allowed to slip between Claude’s sheets, touch him the way he dreamed of. Claude had been so careful then, had kept so many secrets, and Dimitri had been too young and foolish to realize how disarmed Claude was by his honest affection. By the way he would tell Claude that he was beautiful, that he was clever, that Dimitri considered himself lucky to spend time with him.

He’d said those things easily back then, and he had meant them. He hadn’t been raised to give empty flattery, and he had not understood the effect it had on Claude, who had never received that kind of honest admiration. Dimitri knew Claude better now, knew his past, his secrets - and as much as he regretted so much of his past, he could never regret that.

He wished only that he could say things like that now. Claude was still beautiful, still clever, Dimitri was still blessed to be given so much of his time. But they were not lovers, and Dimitri would not overstep the bounds of propriety. He could, however, say some of what was in his heart, and he had.

“Okay, all right,” Claude said finally, lifting his head from his hands, composure regained. “If that’s really what you want - well, of course I won’t say no. I’d be lucky indeed to have you at my back, Dimitri. But if you change your mind - if you decide this isn’t the life for you - all you need to do is tell me.” 

His gaze was steady. “And don’t think I’m just saying that because it’s you, too. I’ve told all of my guard the same thing. I want your loyalty, freely given, and if it begins to weigh on you - if you find that isn’t the life you want, or you begin to disagree with my rule, or if you find your heart changing, I’ll release you from your vows. I won’t have anyone sworn to me who doesn’t want to be.”

Dimitri could not help but think of the lords he had once known, the sort of men who expected unquestioning obedience, who saw it as the way of things. Of course Claude could not be like that, not after fighting for his throne, not after facing so much baseless anger and hatred. He would never take loyalty for granted.

But Dimitri thought that was a blind spot for Claude, in its own way. He wanted those who were loyal to him to be free to choose their own paths, and did not consider that all of those paths might lead to him, over and over again.

Dimitri could not speak for the rest of Claude’s sworn royal guards, but he believed that was the case for him. Believed it fully, without any doubts.

“I will not abandon my vows,” he said, his eyes on Claude’s, serious and certain. “I will stay by your side for the rest of my days.”

There was nothing more to say. Nothing more that needed to be said. Claude stared at him, silent, and finally nodded. The smile he managed to coax to his lips was shaky.

“Well,” he said, “I suppose I’d better keep you there, then.”

***

Dimitri made his vows to Claude in the throne room, courtiers looking on, the rest of the guard arrayed behind Claude. He made them in Almyran, and he made them as Nicolai, common warrior of Fódlan, but they were no less real, no less certain. King Khalid accepted those vows from his throne, slim golden crown perched on his brow, regal and beautiful.

He swore to protect Claude with lance and sword and bow, with the strength of his arms and his steadfast heart, until the day he died. Like all the king’s guard, he swore himself to Claude, not to Almyra - because though Dimitri had grown fond of the country, it was not the country that he loved. He made his vows and as they fell from his lips he felt a greater peace than he had in years.

To the onlooking courtiers, it was notable only because Claude’s personal guard was small, and so it was rare to see someone new join it. But Dimitri had been living in the palace for some time, so he was known to them, and he was known to be strong, and he was known to care for Claude. He wasn’t even the first warrior from Fódlan to pledge themselves to Claude, and so what was there to stand out, except that he had finally chosen a place for himself?

In the crowd were Sylvain, Ingrid, and Felix, all looking on with varying levels of interest. It meant far more to them, surely, watching the man who should have been their king swear to protect another land’s king. But Dimitri, if he were being honest, did not care what they thought. This was what he wanted, above all.

He made his vows in a strong, clear voice, and Claude accepted them, his smile true and real. Then Dimitri rose and took his place with the rest of Claude’s guard - arrayed behind him, guarding his back with all of their strength. Firuzeh caught his eye, just for a moment, and her quick nod of approval could do nothing but warm his heart.

This was the path he had chosen, and he knew it was the right one.

***

It was only a few days after the ceremony that Dimitri said farewell to his friends. They all had duties to return to, lives they had put on hold to come see him - and now Dimitri had duties as well.

He saw them off, of course, and was heartened to see that they were leaving together. It was not such a surprise - though Dimitri had chosen to keep himself firmly out of their business after his initial order, Felix had indeed obeyed. There had been a noticeable ease of tensions between Sylvain and Felix, and Sylvain’s smiles inched closer and closer to being real every time Felix rolled his eyes and chose to sit next to him at dinner.

That was none of Dimitri’s business, really, but he could not help but be pleased to see it nonetheless. He was even more pleased to learn, via a carefully offhand comment from Sylvain, that Felix was accompanying him back to Gautier territory.

“Well,” Sylvain said with a grin and a shrug, “I actually _do_ have some stuff there that he could do this time. There have been some bandits preying on the border with Sreng, and if we leave them there all this work towards peace I’ve been doing will be wasted.” His eyes flicked to Felix, then away. “Anyway, we’ve got a few things to work out. You know.”

“I see,” Dimitri said. He paused, then stepped forward, pulling a surprised Sylvain into a brief but warm hug. “Please take care of yourselves. I want only happiness for the both of you.” 

He turned to Felix, who warded him off with an upraised hand. “Don’t try to hug me, you fool.” But his scowl was familiar and almost fond, and he looked at Dimitri for a long moment before saying, “Take care of yourself as well. I have no desire to attend another funeral.”

“Thank you, Felix,” Dimitri said with honesty. Perhaps he would see them again - they knew where to find him now, eternally at the side of the Almyran king. He would welcome them if they came, and he knew that they knew that.

Ingrid accepted his hug with a warm embrace of her own. She smiled up at him and said, “You’d better write to me. I want to hear all about the life of an Almyran royal guard. Make sure Claude doesn’t work you too hard, all right?”

“I will,” Dimitri said, though they both knew Claude would never do any such thing. He smiled at her, and stepped back, and then he watched as they rode off.

His heart felt settled.

After they had gone, he went to Thaddea, settling in for one of his regular visits. The Dagdan healer had supported his choice to swear himself to Claude, had supported his decision to greet his old friends, had supported him all along the way. 

He had things to talk about, breathing exercises to practice, but there was one thing at the forefront of his mind. One thing that had crept into his thoughts since the day he knelt before Claude - or more properly, since the feast afterward. The rest of the guard had shared stories, legends of ancient warriors who had made these same vows. The feats they’d achieved, the adventures they’d gone on in service to their king.

Nasrin had gone last, her lips curving into a smile as she told the tale of a bandit who had fallen in love with a king, who had fought and worked and changed his life, changed his entire world, in order to be worthy of swearing himself to that king. A bandit who had become a royal guard, who had stayed by the king’s side for years, quietly loyal, until - finally - he learned that the king loved him in return.

He had not been able to forget that tale, and as he took his seat in Thaddea’s comfortable quarters, there was only one question on the tip of his tongue.

“Thaddea,” he said, and she regarded him with interest, “what do you know of Almyran courting customs?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. ♥ Like I said, there will be one more part in this series, though I can't promise when it'll be finished. Hopefully not too long!


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